Medicine
by sweettooth7
Summary: A few little glimpses at Caryl behind closed doors.
1. First

**Hello there!**

**I had an idea for a one-shot to include in The Vagabonds, but then for some reason it turned into a little bit more than that, so I decided to post it as a separate story. There will be three chapters in total, and here is the first one : )**

**xRainyDaysxx planted the idea in my head that these two had been together before the fall of the prison, since she'd read somewhere that Kirkman teased at the possibility. And I just ate it up with a spoon because I LOVE that idea! Their closeness in 4x01 definitely had me wondering if they were together, so I will be assuming this is true until proven wrong : P**

**I hope y'all enjoy these, I'm hoping to get the second one up sometime next week. Thanks for reading! oxox**

**(I own nothing related to the Walking Dead, least of all its awesome characters)...CARYL ON! : )**

* * *

The first time, he was gentle. And a little bit drunk.

Carol had made her way back to the library before heading to bed, realizing that she'd forgotten to lock the safe she kept the demonstration knives in. She may have been doing her part to teach the children how to protect themselves, but she sure as hell didn't want them getting into the weapons without her supervision.

When she rounded the corner and stepped through the library doorway, she saw Daryl sitting on the couch and stopped short. The vision in front of her brought a smirk to her lips.

He was sitting perfectly at ease, leaning back with his head lolled over the top of the back cushions, a bottle of something in his hands.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked him, crossing her arms in front of her and arching an eyebrow.

His head shot up and his slightly droopy eyes met hers. He grinned, a little too widely for Daryl, which caused her own to smile to spread.

"Relaxin'," he said, tipping his head back to the cushions once more.

"I see that," she replied and walked towards him, dropping herself down beside him.

The mystery bottle was resting at his side between them, his fingers clutching the neck of the bottle.

She wrapped her hand around his and hoisted the bottle up so she could see what was inside.

"Gin," she remarked, as though this impressed her. She lowered their hands back to where the bottle originally rested between them. "Where'd you find gin?"

"Glenn," he told her simply, his speech barely slurred, but that sloppy smirk still on his face.

"And you drank _all _of this?" It didn't go unnoticed that the bottle now only held half of its original contents, at best.

"Nah, barely had any."

She looked at him with suspicion clear in her eyes.

"I swear," he said, becoming only slightly more animated. "Made him sick so he gave me the rest." He settled his head back once more and closed his eyes. "My tolerance is for shit."

"So…" her voice trailed off as she took in the sight of him, more peaceful than she'd seen him in quite a while. "What are you doing in here?"

"Told you," he started, his eyes still closed. "Relaxin'."

She smiled, even though he couldn't see her.

"Yeah, I got that part. But why are you doing it in _here_?"

He took a deep breath, letting it go in a drawn out, contented sigh. "I like it in here. 'S quiet." She nodded as he spoke. But then he continued. "Reminds me of you."

She looked at him then, his eyes still closed, though he cracked one open to peer at her.

"Don't you look at me like that, woman. You're soothin'. You're like…medicine."

She knew she should say something. Anything.

_Say _anything_, Carol. Anything at all_.

But she couldn't. So she just looked at him as she did before, her smile faded, but still there, as though she was expecting him to start laughing and tell her it was all a joke.

Things between them had become progressively easier since bringing in the people of Woodbury. She had expected him to distance himself from basically everyone with all the novelty, but instead, she found he was only drawing himself nearer to her. Like she was his escape from the newness, from the disorder that came with working to build a life with all these new people.

They'd seek one another out, if only to exchange a few words in the middle of a busy day. And sometimes before bed, they'd sit together at night, outside at a picnic table. Sometimes quiet, just being together. Other times talking about something that had happened that day or anything that may have them concerned.

_Medicine_.

He let out another breath before opening his eyes and seeking hers out, his face completely and utterly unreadable.

And then he lifted the bottle and offered it to her, their eyes still locked together.

She glanced at it before taking it from him, their fingertips brushing and shooting fire to the pit of her belly. She took a long pull, grimacing at the strong taste on her tongue and the burn down her throat.

She handed the bottle back to him and he smirked at her reaction. He placed the bottle on the ground beside him, away from her, and then leaned back to his original slumped position.

She could feel the warmth of the alcohol reaching every part of her body. And then he took her hand, putting that warmth to shame.

She froze entirely, wondering what on earth was happening, as his hand flitted softly to hers as their hands rested between them on the couch. She watched his fingers moving on the back of her hand, and then as they slipped to her palm to weave themselves between her fingers.

They'd touched before, of course they had, but this time she could feel his eyes on her face, and the way he held her hand – so gently – there was something about it that had her heart pounding furiously.

She forced herself to make eye contact, and the fiery gaze he fixed her with took her breath away.

"Um…" she didn't know what to say, or what to do. How drunk was he? "How drunk are you?" she asked him, the shake in her voice revealing how nervous she suddenly was.

He sat up then, angling his body towards her, letting his knee touch hers, and looked intently at her as he responded. "Enough that I'm not afraid to ask for what I've been wanting for a good long while."

His voice was so low that, if it didn't feel as though the entire world had slipped away, leaving them to be the only two people left in whatever limbo they were now floating in, she may not have even heard him. But she did. Every blissful word. And the knots in her stomach undid themselves and were now laying in loose jumbled heaps in the pit of her stomach.

Her breath quickened as she stared wide-eyed at him, holding her hand gently in his.

"Should I shut the door?" he asked in a whisper, his eyes questioning with uncertainty.

She nodded just barely, and he swallowed thickly.

He stood up then, and she watched incredulously as he walked to the library door, shutting and locking it before returning to her on the couch. And she remained still as can be.

After a drawn-out moment, Daryl licked his lips and she didn't miss the motion as her eyes darted down to his mouth. She exhaled loudly, and he leaned into her, one arm supporting himself on the couch cushions behind her. He placed a tentative hand on her thigh, close to her knee, suddenly feeling much less confident than he had three minutes ago.

Her gaze was focused on the hand on her leg, and still, she couldn't move. She was sitting rigidly on the couch, her chest rising and falling visibly with her deepened breaths, her heart hammering so loudly that she was sure it could wake the entire prison and draw in every walker for miles.

His hand left hers slowly as he brought it up to her face, cupping her cheek so that she would look at him.

He licked his lips once more and she knew it was coming. A fleeting look in his eye, a subtle change in his breathing. She knew. And she was so happy to be sitting down, because she felt her entire body go weak with anticipation.

He kissed her mouth – so softly – their lips barely brushing together, and drew away an inch to gauge her reaction.

His eyes searched hers as she opened hers slowly and looked at him dumbfounded once more.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered, clearly parched out of sheer apprehension and waiting for what felt like an eternity before she responded.

She couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't believe this was even happening.

And finally she managed _something_. Something that was more than enough for him.

She shook her head, however microscopically, but it got the point across.

_No. Don't stop_.

His lips met hers again, and this time they didn't leave. They were smooth and tentative and faltering, unsure of any type of rhythm since they'd never done this before. But she met his softness with her own, and before long, they found a cadence that felt unlike anything either of them had ever felt before.

It was gentle and deep. Their hands explored slowly, tenderly, over faces and necks and shoulders and chests. Fingers through hair. Hands travelling everywhere and pulling closer and closer.

His arms came down to her waist and he tugged enough that she got the message. His hands stayed on her as she straddled him and brought her hands back to his face, kissing him deeply and softly, and the hunger floating around them was smothering.

She didn't care if he'd been drinking, didn't care if he'd regret it the next morning. This could very well be her last day on earth, and she'd take from it what she could get.

As their shirts came off and skin met skin for the first time, they slowed down, breathing heavy with the overwhelming sensation.

He pulled her in as close as he could, wrapping his arms around her bare back, planting kisses along her collarbone and up her throat until their lips met once more, chests heaving with the crushing want. Every nerve ending came alive like neither of them had ever felt before as the warmth of their bare skin enveloped them, and each brush of their bodies bound them closer together.

She pulled back to unbuckle his pants, and stood to give him room to take them off. And then he sat, leaning forward, looking up at her as he undid hers and pulled them down before drawing her back onto his lap.

He watched her move with disbelief. As though she wasn't real. As though _this_ wasn't real.

She lowered herself onto him slowly as they looked into each other's eyes, and their foreheads touched as she began to move. It was unhurried and gentle, each of them feeling every single movement with everything they had. Their lips and breaths melded into one another, and they watched one another through all the moments they weren't squeezing their eyes shut through the overwhelming feelings.

She clutched at his shoulders, his arms, his neck, his face, and his hands roamed over her with the lightest of touches, squeezing her hips erratically through it all.

"Beautiful," he would mutter over and over, and she swallowed through the tears that sprung to her eyes with the sheer emotion of it all.

And they would kiss so softly and with so much feeling that neither of them were entirely sure where reality ended and fantasy began.

He worshipped her body as though she was some kind of divinity, and she'd never been more certain of how he felt than in those moments. How he loved her.

It all came teeming to a powerful end as they clutched each other tightly and she buried her face into the crook of his neck.

He kissed her shoulder and worked his way inward as she trailed kisses along the side of his neck up to the soft skin below his ear.

He pulled her face to his, their noses practically touching, and he looked fiercely into her eyes.

"I fuckin' love you," he muttered, heart pounding with his admission. But she had to know it. This wasn't nothing. It was so much more than anything he'd ever felt in his entire pitiful life. If it didn't feel so damn good, it would have been too much for him to handle.

She exhaled sharply as she peered deeply into his eyes, a smile tugging at her lips, and she threaded her fingers through his hair. "I fucking love you, too."


	2. Second

**Hi everyone! We're back for the second installment of this mini-story : ) One more after this one, but I'm not sure when I'll get to it (I'm going on holiday in a couple days for over a week)...but I'm hoping to have some down time to write. Also, I'm not done with The Vagabonds, I just got a little sidetracked with this one ; )**

**Thank you so so SO much for reading and reviewing and following and favouriting...there was such a great response to the first chapter I posted for this story, and I can't thank you all enough! I wish I could reply to the guest reviewers, but I'll have to settle for thanking you here...THANK YOU! : )**

**I really hope you enjoy! I own nothing affiliated with TWD, but you already knew that ; )**

* * *

The second time, he was gentle. And a little bit angry.

The day hadn't been kind to Daryl, and since it was so rare that he became angry enough to let it be felt by everyone who crossed his path, she knew that the man had been wronged.

Carol found him banging through the drawers of the little dresser in his cell, seemingly looking for something. She noticed his bow resting on top, the arrows splayed around haphazardly next to it. She grabbed the small tub of wax from the tangled-up sheets on his bed and approached him from behind, her hand slipping into the crook of his arm as she moved to stand beside him. Her fingers traced lightly on the soft skin just above his elbow.

She held out the little container to him and he looked down at her for a brief moment before closing his eyes and letting out a frustrated sigh. He swiped the wax from her with exasperation and unscrewed the cap.

"You okay?" she asked, low enough to make it feel somewhat private, even though the prison walls had ears. His jaw clenched and he glanced her way before returning his focus to the task at hand.

"Just...been a long fuckin' day."

Since it was barely past noon, she figured his day would only be getting worse before it got better.

Her hand squeezed his bicep gently and she leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his upper arm just under the frayed edge of his sleeveless shirt. She felt him lean into her slightly, releasing a tense breath.

The sound of Rick clearing his throat in the doorway had them both turning their attention towards him.

"Can I talk to Daryl for a minute?"

She looked up at Daryl and gave him a small, comforting smile before letting her hand slide from his arm and making her way past Rick out the door.

* * *

Later that day, she sought him out in the guard tower.

He had skipped out on dinner in favour of taking watch, sending Sasha and Maggie back inside. She had brought him his meal, having run all the way across the yard in the pouring rain with a spare shirt draped over the bowl to shield it from the downpour.

He looked towards the trapdoor when he heard it swing open, prepared to tell whoever it was to leave him the fuck alone, his eyes softening when he saw it was her.

"I brought you some dinner," she said by way of greeting, handing him the bowl.

"Don't see yours. You best not have skipped out." He eyed her knowingly. More than once, he'd seen her pass over her meal to one or two of the children who had been grumbling that they were hungry.

She smiled at his concern – it always made her blush when he got protective of her. Like a schoolgirl with her very first crush.

"I promise, I ate already."

He side-eyed her and she sighed, dramatically going through the cross-my-heart motion over her chest. The corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smirk, and he perched himself up on the table they kept up there, giving whoever was on watch an opportunity to sit down and still be able to see out the windows. She propped herself up beside him as he ate, swinging her legs back and forth like a kid in an oversized chair.

"'S good. You cook tonight?"

"Yeah," she murmured, looking out into the pouring rain.

"I knew it. Food tasts like shit if you ain't the one makin' it."

She chuckled at that, and nudged his shoulder. "Stop," she teased.

"'M serious." and then he looked at her and smiled for real.

"Well, thank you," she said shyly. He always complimented her cooking, and it never ceased to give her butterflies a stir. "So what happened today?"

"Shitty day, is all," he shrugged his response between bites.

"Anything in particular? I can spit in someone's oatmeal if you want."

But he didn't answer. Instead, he focused his sights on his bowl and took another bite.

Her smile fell and she nudged him. "What happened?"

He sighed, looking out to the wet horizon. "You know that fucker, David?"

"_David_?" she was shocked. David was well-liked by everyone, as far as she knew. He really liked Daryl and was appreciative of everything. Daryl loved when people were appreciative. Nothing pissed him off more than an "ungrateful asshole", as he called them.

"Daniel? Dean?"

"Sam?" she offered. That made more sense. Sam really was an asshole.

"Yeah, Sam. _That_ fucker. He's been pissin' me off since the day we brought those people here. Doesn't even give a shit that we saved his ass from that psychopath. Always fuckin' complainin' 'bout the shit that needs doin'. Sayin' he didn't have to work so hard back in fuckin' Woodbury. Bitchin' 'bout the kids all damn day. _Fuck._"

She let him talk without interruption, taking his empty bowl from him and placing it at her side.

"And then earlier, I asked him to come help with the fences, said we needed the extra muscle, and the fucker tells me he _ain't interested_. What the fuck is that?"

Yup, sounded like Sam. But there had to be more to it. Daryl was too aggravated for it to have just been Sam's regular shit.

"And then he just started. Like he fuckin' owns the place. Sayin' how he don't like me. How he knows I'm good for nothin' just like Merle." His breath caught and he swallowed hard. Carol winced at the mention of Merle's name. She did not see it going this way. _Here we go_.

"Just kept sayin' what a piece of shit Merle was. How he didn't give a shit about no one but himself. How I'm the same. How I'm gonna fuck everyone over one of these days just like my good-for-nothin' brother."

"Daryl," she said softly. "You know you're not like that. Everyone _except_ Sam knows you're not like that."

"Ain't that. It's just…he's dead now. I don't need to hear what an asshole he was anymore. It's fuckin' over. Why can't it just be fuckin' _over_?" He sounded dejected. Sad. He looked down at his hands, where he was fidgeting with the calluses on his palm.

She took his hand, but he stood up moved a few steps away towards the windows, leaving her perched on the table by herself.

"Everyone hated him. I _get_ that. He was an asshole. I'm just…done fuckin' hearin' about it."

Carol scotted down to the edge of the table by the windows, so she was right next to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him gently closer, but he still wouldn't look at her, keeping his gaze on the falling rain. She slipped her hands under his shirt and ran her fingertips lightly over his skin as he settled in the spot between her legs.

He sighed and closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was looking at her, his arms still at his sides.

"I liked Merle," she said bluntly.

He scoffed. "Fuck off, you did not."

"I did," she insisted with a smile. "We had something in common."

"Oh yeah, and what's that?" he asked in disbelief.

"You." She said it as though it should have been obvious.

He sneered once more. "How's that?"

"Merle loved you. He had an odd way of showing it, but he did. He gave his life for you. He wanted what was best for you. It was _always_ about you."

He looked at her then as though he was seeing her for the first time.

"I'd do that for you," she whispered.

He looked at her still, lost in the blues that looked back at him with such sincerity that it overwhelmed him. The end of the fucking world, and he finally finds his place. What a joke.

"And he was funny," she continued, her tone lighthearted. And still Daryl just watched her. "I mean, his humour was a little hard to get, but he _was_ funny. At least, _I_ thought he was, in his own way." She paused briefly, reflecting. "He would have been good for us. I think he would have liked it here, eventually."

Daryl cut her off then, bringing his mouth to hers, taking hold of her face, and kissing her deeply. Softly. With a type of intensity that Carol had never felt from him before.

His hands moved on her, touching every square inch of her. Pushing clothes aside to bring his lips to the skin there. But still, he was gentle. So gentle.

He took the lead this time, from start to finish. He peeled off her clothes when he wanted to, he kissed and licked and nipped when he wanted to. He touched and felt what he wanted to. All so gently.

And she let him, because even when he was taking from her what he wanted, using her as a release for his anger, he still made her feel adored. He still made her feel cherished and precious and loved.

She did all she could to match his affection, try to make him feel as good as he made her feel. Her touch was featherlight, intermittently running them up his chest and around the back of his neck to pull him in for a soft kiss.

The rain was coming down in sheets, and even though none of the tower's windows were covered, they were in their own little world.

No one could see them undress one another. No one could see him kneel in front of her as she leaned a hand back on the table while he explored the most intimate part of her. No one could see when he slid his hands to her behind and pulled her to the edge of the surface before sliding inside her as she wrapped her arms tightly around his him. No one could see their mouths and tongues trailing along each other's shoulders, throats, earlobes. No one could see the way they moved together in the most intimate way two people could ever move together.

And when they came down from their high, sweating and breathing heavy and chests heaving, he kissed her again. Over and over again. Holding her face in his hands and placing soft, sweet kissed on her lips.

His hands moved to her shoulders and ran down her arms before sweeping behind her back and pulling her in closer.

She moved her mouth to his collarbone then. "I fuckin' love you," she murmured between the kisses she planted on his skin.

He smirked. "I fuckin' love you too."

They dressed lazily, stealing glances at one another as they went, and then Carol settled herself back on that table, making herself comfortable by leaning against the wall, right up in the corner. He moved to sit with her, placing himself between her legs and leaning back on her chest.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rain, before she broke the silence.

"You feeling any better now?"

"Mmm. You always make me feel better," he mumbled as she ran her fingers through his hair and massaged his head with her fingertips.

She snickered. "Like medicine?"

"Yeah," he yawned. "Like medicine."

He took one of her hands in his and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly before weaving his fingers through hers and settling in to watch the rain falling on the treeline.


	3. Third

**I am so SO sorry this took so long to get to you! I was away for a week, and I just couldn't focus on this one while I was gone. I didn't want to rush it because I have a soft spot for this fic, for some reason. This chapter was actually the one that made me want to start it in the first place, so I wanted to do it justice. And, boy oh boy, I really hope I did!**

**Your reviews...I can't even, guys. The response to this story has been so incredible. I'm pretty sure I replied to all of you, except the guest reviewers who I can't respond to (dmm, you're hilarious!)...if I missed anyone, I'm really sorry!**

**SO. Let's get down to business. This third (and final) chapter takes place the night before Walker-Patrick is discovered, i.e. right after 4x01.**

**Also, there's a line in this story that I took from a song by Walk Off The Earth, it's called "Speeches"...amazing band, amazing song...and it just fit, so I used it : )**

**I feel like I should use a disclaimer: there's no actual funny business in this chapter, soooo...sorry 'bout that. I hope that do****esn't ruin it for anyone ; ) I'm just _so_ not a smut writer, and all I could think about was the post-coital cuddling that we'll _never_ get to see on TWD. **

**ENJOY! And thanks a million for reading : )**

* * *

The third time, he was gentle. And the third time was the last time.

They lay in the bunk of his cell, sated from their tryst and covered only by a thin sheet. Carol lay on her back and gazed up at her man as Daryl propped himself up on one elbow to give himself the best possible view of her.

He traced his fingertips along the length of her collarbone, his eyes following the motion. She watched him with an amused smirk on her face, delighting in his gentle touch.

His fingertips travelled up the column of her throat and along her jaw before he slid them into the hair at the nape of her neck, running his thumb along the soft skin underneath her earlobe.

"I love this spot," he murmured as his thumb traced a gentle circle on her skin.

"Yeah?" She couldn't wipe the smile off her face as she looked up at him.

"Yeah. It's so…soft. And it's mine." He brought his lips right up to her ear and whispered, "Ain't no one else gettin' their hands on this spot." And then he kissed that very spot. So gently.

"Judith does sometimes, when she's tugging on my ears," she murmured, almost incoherently. She shivered and heated up all at once. Goosebumps covered her flesh and he smirked as he heard her breath hitch in his ear.

But she couldn't help herself. The warmth of his lips pressing so tenderly on the delicate skin beneath her earlobe had her eyes fluttering shut on their own accord. The feel of his breath on her always reduced her to nothing. The same way his smooth, rumbling voice did. The same way his eyes did. His touch.

"I s'pose I can share with Jude," he retorted with a rueful glare.

She grinned at him and his smile lingered as he moved his eyes back to his hand and let it travel once more. His hand was spread wide on her skin as it moved back down her throat, coming to rest over her heart.

Carol watched his face in amazement as she contemplated this man. He was careful with her. His touches were always kind, always soft.

She realized, then, that Daryl was just a gentle lover. The way he touched her and moved with her made her feel like she was being worshipped, and it was unlike anything she'd ever felt before in her life. It was just his style. Like this part of him was a stark contrast to the man he let the world see. Here was his balance. The most intimate part of him was the complete opposite of what was on display.

And this part of him was only for her to know, and no one else.

She watched him as his splayed hand travelled back and forth across the expanse of her chest, his eyes soaking up the very image of her, his hand memorizing the feel of her. The warmth. His thumb coming dangerously close to the sensitive peak of her breast.

And she didn't mind being on display to him, not one bit. She didn't mind being under such intense scrutiny, having his fingers touch her in places she'd always kept hidden, having his eyes take in the parts of her she'd formerly been ashamed of.

His gaze stayed on the site his hand was currently exploring, but his mind was in overdrive.

Daryl couldn't believe his life, his luck. The woman who lay underneath him in his very own bed. He couldn't believe any of it. How she loved him, how he was okay with that.

How he loved her, and so fiercely that he would give _everything_ to keep her safe and happy and alive.

It was something he'd never imagined for himself. Not before, and not after. Love was for other people. He had accepted the fact that he'd always be alone. That he just wasn't capable of giving anything to anyone else.

But her. _Carol_. She just happened. He hadn't even realized how badly he wanted to give her everything inside of him until he was already giving it.

And so he couldn't keep the awe out of his stare, looking at her like she was some sort of miracle. Touched her so gently so as not to pop her like a bubble, to make sure she was really here, and she was staying.

He touched her now whenever he wanted to, and she was okay with that. Liked it, even. And she touched him too, whenever the mood struck her, and it felt so good that he wished time would just stop so it would never end.

But he knew better, in this world, that things were even less permanent than they ever were before. Especially the things you loved the most. He knew they could be torn apart any minute of any day, and so he lay there with her and tried to memorize every freckle, every dip and curve.

So that if her time came first, he'd have these memories to hold onto. And if his time was to come first, he'd recount every inch of her very being in his last moments before it was all over.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered as her fingers came up to smooth out the worry in his forehead.

He looked at her face then, softening his gaze when his blue eyes met hers. He shrugged.

"Just...thinkin' 'bout you."

"What about me?" she smiled.

"I don't wanna lose you."

His face was serious - too serious - and it caused her to worry right along with him, her smile wiped away in one fell swoop.

"Daryl, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"For now."

"Don't think like that. You can't." Her hand moved to caress his cheek.

"You ain't worried?"

"Of course I am. But," she paused, thinking of how to put it into words. "If Ed is what I had to suffer through, it was worth it. Every moment of my life with him...it brought me to _you_. And if we get ripped apart the second we get out of this bed, then at least we have this. You're worth it all. Every miserable part of it. This very _second_ is worth it all a thousand times over."

He swallowed hard, a lame attempt at reigning in his emotions.

"I couldn't find your little girl." A simple statement, but she knew what he meant. The guilt he still carried with him. The worry he felt that she blamed him for it.

"Don't, Daryl. Please."

His hand continued its journey along her chest, her collarbone, her shoulder, her bicep, and back again. Over and over. But this time was different. It wasn't as soft, as carefree. She could feel his fingers twitching just barely with his insecurity.

She placed her hand atop his and stilled it.

"Daryl," she whispered firmly. He looked at her. "Sophia's better off wherever she is now. She wasn't made for this world, and that's okay. It's better this way. Every day, I look at Carl and Rick, and I just…I'm relieved that Sophia doesn't have to live this life."

He knew she wasn't just saying this to make him feel better. She believed it – she had to – or else her grief would eat her alive.

Daryl nodded, just barely, as he took comfort in her warm blue eyes. Drew strength from them as though she were offering him a drink of water in the middle of the desert.

"She brought us together," Carol said in a soft whisper.

His eyes flickered back and forth between hers then, not having ever thought of it that way.

"I couldn't keep Sophia safe, but when she disappeared, you…you gave me _everything_. I thank Sophia every day for that. For you. If it weren't for her…" her voice trailed off as she shook her head in an attempt to will away her tears.

Carol didn't want Sophia living the fear they all lived every day, running from the flesh-eating monsters they would never be able to escape. If it weren't for Sophia, Carol may have never found what she needed in Daryl. And she would be eternally grateful to her baby girl.

Daryl's head dropped and he took a deep breath as he pressed his forehead into her chest before placing a kiss between her breasts. Her fingers weaved themselves into his hair and she felt his breath on her ribs as he sighed, his hand squeezing the skin at her waist.

He kissed his way back up to her face, grazing his lips up her chest and along her throat before placing a lingering kiss on her mouth, his hand having moved back to his favorite spot beneath her earlobe.

She never thought she'd be given the chance to love and be loved like this. Never thought she'd ever get to feel so good. She must have done something right in her lifetime, or one of her past ones, because Daryl was the sweetest reward. Every miserable moment of her life before the Turn had lead her directly to him.

Where Sophia had been the only source of happiness before, the agony suffered the minute she watched her baby run off the highway was the last piece that bound her to Daryl. And every time he put his hands on her, she knew she could heal. She knew she was in exactly the place she was supposed to be, and that everything was as it should have been.

When they pulled apart, his hand continued its exploring. He ran his fingertips down her arm and weaved his fingers loosely through hers, bringing her wrist up to his face.

He ran the tip of his nose around the delicate skin of her wrist and inhaled.

"You smell so fuckin' good."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "Do not," she admonished.

"Do, too. Better than everyone in this goddamn place." He placed a kiss on her pulse point. "I could smell you all day long," he chuckled, realizing how ridiculous that sounded.

She snickered along with him. "Go home, Daryl, you're drunk."

"I'm serious."

"You're not thinking straight. I think I just blew your mind with that last little move I pulled."

"That was a good move," he smirked, raising his eyebrows as he remembered the ecstasy that was twenty minutes before.

He put her hand down gently at her side as he spoke, "I ain't done here, though. Be still. And stay quiet."

She smiled as she watched him shift a little lower on her body, easing his way between her legs. She didn't hesitate to accommodate, opening them wider and then squeezing a bit when he was settled, holding him there.

He placed his hands on the swells of her hips and kissed the skin on her ribs, right underneath her breasts, before continuing his journey south.

"What's this one?" he asked as he traced a finger over her long scar.

They had come this far, able to mention the marks on their bodies with one another, if they were genuinely curious. They'd taught each other to be proud of how far they'd come; what they'd endured to make it this far.

She smiled at him, though he was still looking at her scar, tracing it softly with his index finger. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to this kind of attention from him. That her body was the source of this wonder and curiosity. Awe, even.

"That's my C-section scar."

"Did it hurt?"

"I didn't feel a thing. I was frozen."

"You had a fuckin' baby, Carol," he said as he looked up at her with admiration.

"Yeah," she chortled, "So glamourous."

"It's fuckin' amazing."

She smiled, tears prickling her eyes though she managed to hold them back. "_You're_ fuckin' amazing," she retorted, nudging his side with her knee.

"Shut up, this ain't about me."

And then he continued his lavishing, kissing the tip of her C-section scar before moving on.

"How about them stretch marks?" She asked, lifting her head to watch him nuzzling the crease where her thigh met her hip bone. "My _amazing_ pregnancy gave me those, too."

"Beautiful," he mumbled.

Her breath picked up as his mouth made his way to the sweet spot. So agonizingly slowly. She could feel her skin heating up as his breath grazed over the path he made in her thigh.

But then he stopped abruptly and her head shot up to look at him, and he grinned.

Her jaw dropped as he moved his way back up her body, coming to lie at her side, propped up on an elbow as he had been before.

"Asshole," she accused, the shock still on her face.

"Watch that mouth of yours," he teased. "Wasn't it _you_ that said we had to be up early tomorrow mornin'?"

She huffed and rolled her eyes. She did say that. And she was certain they would have been asleep at a decent hour if he hadn't enticed her into sleeping with him the first time that night.

"Hey, you're the bossy one, not me. I'm just following orders," he defended as he pulled the blankets up around them and blew out their candle.

"Real nice, Daryl," she said, rolling her eyes as she adjusted her position, though he couldn't see her. "You sure do know how to talk to a lady."

They settled into their sleeping position, and he pulled her in tight, her back pressed tightly to his chest.

"You ain't a lady, you're a warrior."

She giggled and he smiled into her neck before he continued.

"You're the toughest son of a bitch I ever met."

"I had a good teacher."

"Partner," he corrected. "We're in this thing together."

She took his hand that lay across her belly, lacing her fingers in with his and bringing his hand to her mouth. She pressed her lips against the back of his hand.

She sighed before she spoke. "I fuckin' love you, Dixon."

"Fuckin' love you too, woman."

* * *

They slept soundly that night, and woke up with the sun.

They had barely been fully dressed when they heart the gut-wrenching scream from the prison courtyard.

"_Walkers in D!_"

They sprang into action faster than they knew they were capable of, and they didn't know then that their lives would be irrevocably torn apart.

* * *

**I know. How depressing...I think my hopes for this reunion are a little too high. I'm setting myself up for disappointment, I'm sure. I've talked myself into thinking they were basically married before they were separated, ha!**

**Thank the heavens for fan fiction : P**

**And thank YOU again for reading! oxoxox**


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